


Hush The Roaring Silence

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: The Beast And The Burden [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 09, Slow Burn, captivity (not any main character), mute!Dean, selective/trauma induced mutism, starvation (not any main character)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They make their way through the trees in silence, Dean leading the way. He's slow, stumbling over twigs and roots every few steps. His heart is racing, and he keeps his gaze trained on the ground, though it doesn't help his walking much. His mind can't seem to differentiate between his first walk up here, almost a year back, and his blurry memories from his escape only a few days ago. It's getting steadily darker, the fortress blocking out the bit of sunlight there is. By the time they've reached the clearing, he's shivering even more from the cold sweat that's broken out over his back, and he feels hollow, like he's not all there. Sam and Cas come to a stop at his side, staring up the high wall of red brick and the fake windows reflecting back nothing but empty white and gray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

_**hush the roaring silence** _

_it is a silver sound_

 

_we're both now_

_here_

_still breathing_

 

 

 

 

 

He stands alone with Charlie in the kitchen.

She dragged him back into there, after commanding Sam and Cas to unload all the stuff from her car. He'd chuckled at the way Sam and Cas had let her boss them around, though the way Cas practically flew from the room again made it hard to keep smiling. He doesn't get to dwell on it – Charlie is smiling brightly, joking how since they're both partly invalid they're going to have to fuse their powers to make breakfast.

They stand side by side at the counter, Charlie chattering away and jumping from one topic to the next, while Dean stays silent. He's smiling to himself, basking in her warm presence. It's a bit surreal, since he had steeled himself to be ready for her never wanting to see him again. Charlie finally falls silent as well, but it's not like those tense silences that seem to spread between him and Cas whenever they're alone with each other. Charlie cleans her hands after she's done cutting the tomatoes, and they work together making the omelets. When the first one is fizzling in the skillet, Charlie turns to him, biting her lip. Her voice is soft, careful in a way that makes Dean feel guilty all over again.

“I'm not gonna lie, it feels weird when I'm the only one talking, but –” She pauses, draws in a breath and looks up at Dean determinedly. “We all want you to get better, but you've been through a hell of a lot. Promise you'll be patient with yourself, okay?” Dean sighs, flips the omelet and stares down into the skillet. He wants to promise this, but he doesn't know if he can or should. He doesn't wanna lie to Charlie. Some of his internal struggle must show on his face, because Charlie only touches his arm briefly like to say she understands. She switches lanes again and talks about the new Avengers movie until the food is ready.

By that time, Sam has wandered back into the kitchen, finally properly dressed. He hovers over both of their shoulders until Charlie shoos him away and towards the cupboards to get the cutlery. Sam laughs and jokes how he thought Dean was the handmaiden, to which Charlie replies that she's the Queen anyway. Dean laughs, and Charlie winks at him.

>

They set the table in the library, and Dean hovers there uncertainly, because he's not sure if Cas is gonna eat with them or not. He wants him to. But if Cas still needs space, he shouldn't push. Charlie looks questioningly at him when she sets the orange juice down, but then it seems to click with her. “I'm gonna go see if Castiel wants to join, be right back.” She smiles at Dean, and he watches her light step as she leaves the room. He feels kind of sad that he didn't get to see Cas and Charlie's first meeting. It must have been hilarious, Charlie's cheerfulness and Cas' awkward solemn demeanor. Or maybe it wasn't like that at all, given the circumstances.

When Charlie returns with Cas in tow only a few minutes later, Cas visibly hesitates before entering the room. He has a look on his face that Dean can't read. When he and Cas lock eyes for a moment, Cas looks away quickly and his fingers twitch at his sides nervously. Dean looks down and busies himself with moving stuff around and swiping dust from the table that's not actually there.

>

Breakfast doesn't turn out a complete disaster, mostly because Charlie talks so much the silence from Dean's end is not as obvious. In all her chatter, she doesn't mention Oz once. Dean can only hope it doesn't mean something bad happened to her there. Charlie's been through enough. She and Sam end up getting into a playful fight over Game of Thrones spoilers, and Dean laughs so hard he almost chokes on his stupid oatmeal.

Cas flinches where he's sitting opposite him, and for a moment it almost looks like he's gonna reach out for something. But then he only grips his knife tighter, and continues pushing his food around his plate.

>

Charlie bullies Sam into washing the dishes with her, and Cas disappears again. There is therefore no one to stop Dean, and he decides he's not gonna delay any longer, or he might chicken out again. He's going to return to his room.

Dean has his pillows and blankets stuffed under his left arm, his thoughts already occupied with cleaning and tidying up, when he steps into his room and stops short. Cas is standing in front of his drawer, a t-shirt in his hands that Dean doesn't recognize. He looks up when Dean enters and freezes. For a long, suspended moment they just stare at each other. Then a door slams closed somewhere further down the hall, and Cas visibly flinches. He looks away, his jaw tense, and then shoulders past Dean without another word.

>

Dean gets lost in cleaning for several hours. There's not actually that much to do – some dust, some old notes, some clothes to wash. But he's slow, his right arm still clumsy and weak. He holds things in his hands, to swipe the dust away or change their place, and then ends up just holding them, lost in thought. He picks one of his notebooks up, and a bunch of photographs fall out, all over the floor. He crouches down and picks them up, one after the other. He means to put them away again, but then finds himself sitting on the bed, flipping through them. All of this, so many years ago. He remembers now, how he used to keep these close.

The notebook is one of the few things in his room that don't have any dust on them. He tries not to think about Sam looking through them again and again. Stuck in the past, holding on to how it used to be.

>

Charlie leaves again around noon, evading questions about where she's gonna go. But she hugs Dean goodbye, and promises to come back soon. She winks in Cas' direction, and then waves at the three of them when she gets up the stairs. Dean glances at Cas, curious, but Cas is staring at the floor, a look of frustration on his face.

Sam clears his throat, “You know, I was going to go out, stock up on some stuff.” He shifts his weight around, then fixes Dean with a determined look. “I think you should come with. You haven't left the bunker in _days_ , Dean. Eventually you're gonna need to get back in the game, for your own good.”

Dean looks up at Sam uncertainly. He had kind of expected Sam to demand the opposite, after what happened in the kitchen. Dean doesn't think this is a good idea – but he left his brother alone for almost a year, and then came back all messed up. He can't fault Sam for wanting things to go back to normal, or at least to what normal is like for them. He nods, and Sam visibly perks up, he smiles, “You okay with me driving?” Dean makes a face, but it's not like he'd trust himself to drive yet. Sam huffs out a breath of laughter, then looks at Cas expectantly, “You're coming with us, right?” Dean turns to look at Cas, who doesn't answer right away. His eyes flicker from Dean to Sam and back, and he looks stricken. “Perhaps it would be best if I – ” He's looking past Dean and at Sam when he cuts himself off abruptly, and then just says “Yes.”

Dean frowns at Cas in confusion, but Cas is determinedly avoiding his eyes, and Sam just says “Great, I'll get the car, meet you outside.” He leaves, and the silence immediately feels awkward. Dean scratches at his neck, unsure of what to do with himself or the whole situation. He's just about to make a beeline for his room, grab his jacket, but Cas' quiet “Dean”, makes him stop again after barely one step. He turns, and Cas is finally looking at him. It doesn't really make things better, because Cas' whole expression is weighted down by guilt. “Dean, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – ” he balls his fists and looks off to the side for a moment before his gaze swings back to Dean. His jaw is bunched up and tense, angry. “I shouldn't have made you feel like I don't trust you to make your own decisions.” He stares at Dean, eyes earnest and full of regret, and that's about as much as Dean can take. It's not Cas' fault that he is seriously messed up right now.

He shakes his head and has stepped closer before he even knows what he's doing, right into Cas' space. Cas goes very still, and Dean feels his face heat. He looks to the side, clears his throat. “Cas, it's oka- ”, his voice gives out through the last word, and he makes a frustrated noise, scrubs a hand down his face. When he manages to look at Cas again, Cas' whole expression has softened. He reaches out and lays a hand on Dean's left shoulder, warm and stable. Although it catches Dean off guard, it doesn't make him flinch. “You'll get there, Dean.” He sounds much surer of that than Dean himself feels, but it's surprisingly good to hear. To have someone believe in him like that, especially someone like Cas, who has actually seen Dean at his very worst. He tells himself that this is the reason he feels strangely bereft when Cas withdraws his hand again. That it was all about the demonstration of Cas' trust in him, and had nothing to do with Cas' warmth and his gentle touch at all.

>

Since it's a week-day and still relatively early, the Walmart isn't quite the nightmare it could be. Still, the noise and the people and the bright lights are enough to quicken his pulse instantly. It's like getting back from Purgatory all over again. He feels like everyone around him is waving through an ocean, and he is the one left standing on dry and empty ground. He also bumps into Cas every few minutes, who barely says a word but also refuses to back off more than two feet. Sam had thrown one look at them, got an extra cart, and then dispatched them to get – something. Somehow, they've ended up in the fruit aisle, and Dean is kind of just watching Cas critically inspect various types of apples that more or less all look the same to Dean.

Cas appears completely oblivious to the noise and the rush of people around them. He takes his time picking out what he wants, and handles everything he touches with care. It makes a stab of regret run through Dean, that not even this second time around he got to help Cas getting used to being human. But then again, he isn't exactly a role model.

Cas holds up a bright green apple and turns halfway towards Dean, eyebrows raised in question. Dean only scowls in reply. He doesn't like apples. And these are far too green to be natural in his opinion. Cas sighs and puts the apple back with a look of disapproval, “You need vitamins, Dean.” No way can Dean talk in here, so he just rolls his eyes as dramatically as possible and raises one hand to flap it like a mouth. Cas' frown deepens, but his I-will-smite-you stare looks so misplaced in this setting that Dean bursts out laughing. Cas makes a heroic effort to keep the disapproval on his face, but after a moment his mouth is twitching, and he's definitely smiling by the time he turns his face away.

It makes an answering smile tug at Dean's mouth, and he feels warmth spread through his chest. For the first time since they set foot in here, he feels like he can relax a bit. Like he won't flinch at the next loud noise and have to force himself not to look around frantically to locate the threat. Cas examines an orange next, makes a pleased sound, and puts it in their cart.

>

The woman at the checkout smiles distractedly at Sam, and shoots nervous glances at Dean. His sleeves are rolled down, he didn't even take his jacket off. Besides looking a little haggard and like he hasn't slept in a while, she shouldn't be able to tell. There should be nothing to see. Of what he was. He pushes the cart around and looks up, and their eyes meet. Hers widen, and an expression flickers over her face. There and gone again. Sam digs one of their credit cards out of his jacket and Cas' shoulder brushes against Dean's, standing too close while he's helping Dean load their stuff back into the cart. Dean takes a deep breath and keeps his head down.

When they're finished loading everything in the car, Sam comes to a stop beside the driver's door. He's turning the keys over in his hand, “Hey, you uh. You wanna drive back?” He's looking at Dean now, squinting against the sunlight. Dean, hand already on the door of the shotgun seat, pauses. Cas is hovering a few feet behind him, not saying anything. Three cars down, a mother in a soft beige cotton sweater is shoving what must be like ten packages of wheat flour into the trunk of her old beat up Sedan. From somewhere inside the car, a baby is screaming. In the distance, a dog is barking, and an icy shudder runs down Dean's back. He turns from the noise, shakes his head.

Sam sighs, gets behind the wheel. Dean lingers for a moment, caught up in feeling out of place in this parking lot, in broad daylight and without – without what? Something touches his shoulder and he flinches, turns around to find Cas looking up at him with a concerned expression. Dean opens his mouth, not knowing what to say or if he even can, but then the dog barks again and he clenches his teeth instead. Wrenches the door open and throws it shut after himself maybe a little too forcefully. Sam shoots him a look but doesn't say anything when Dean grabs for Houses of the Holy and shoves it into the tape deck. He leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, but when they make it to No Quarter, he suddenly feels dread settle like a cold weight in his stomach, and turns the player off mid-song. Sam shoots him a confused glance, “Dean?” He waves him off and leans against the window again. The last few miles rush by in silence.

>

A man with a jackal's head is standing over him. Chaps stretched into a wide smile, cruel, sharp teeth flashing. Damp stinking breath hits his face, and he stares into the jackal's eyes, twin black moons. The abyss. And it smiles at him. His heart is frozen in fear.

“You're without it, aren't you?” The voice is smooth, velvet soft. “You miss it, don't you? You miss it.” He is desperate to deny, to defend himself. He cannot speak. His mouth is dry, bloodless. Teeth graze his neck, but the man with the jackal's head is still standing over him, he hasn't moved. Just watching, waiting. Dark eats away at the edges of his vision, crowding in. He's on his knees, maybe, but he can't feel the floor. He topples forward, clutches at the man's leg for balance. Something touches his thigh, and his heartbeat shudders, his heart in a body with the head of –

Dean gasps awake, choking, pushing upward and struggling to stand. Something crashes to the floor, and he has to get to the door, he has to –

His knees are trembling, and he slides down, rest his forehead against the door frame.

“Dean?”

Cas' voice suddenly sounds to his right. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes roughly for a few more moments. When he finally lifts his head, blinking against the much brighter light of the hallway, he sees Cas crouched down at his side, a hand hovering over Dean's shoulder. Cas withdraws it now, frowning and staring at Dean critically. “I heard something break. Are you alright?” Dean scrubs a hand over his eyes, shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. “Bad dreams,” he manages to say, his voice rough from disuse and barely above a whisper. Cas is crouched so close to him he can hear him swallow, “Do you. Do you want to talk about it?” He has a look on his face like Talking About It is a totally foreign concept he doesn't actually believe in or know how it works, but that he's heard is what normal people are supposed to do in these scenarios.

Cas' contrite expression at his own words actually makes Dean smile a bit. It gives him the strength to drag himself to standing again, using the door frame for support. He limps over to sit down at the end of his bed. Cas hovers in the doorway, then tentatively steps closer and sits down in the chair opposite Dean. Dean watches him nervously. When he closes his eyes, he still sees black fur, still feels the ghost of teeth at his throat. He rubs a hand over his thigh, takes another deep breath and clears his throat. “I wasn't –” his voice gives out again, and he grits his teeth in frustration. His eyes flicker over to Cas, who is watching him calmly and patiently. Dean tries again, “I wasn't the only – prisoner. There were. These cells.” He has to stop. Meets Cas eyes for a moment before looking away. He rubs a hand over his thigh again, stares at the floor and feels his skin tingle with heat. “They had. No doors. Or least mi – mine didn't.”

Dean forces his eyes up, his breath hitching. “Cas, they're all still there. I got – I gotta go back.”

>

Cas just looks at him without saying anything for a long moment. Dean is already gritting his teeth and bracing himself against Cas' incredulity, the inevitable criticism that has to follow. He can't expect anyone to understand. He's going to have to sneak away and do it himself, on his own. “We'll help you, of course.” Dean snaps his head up, confused, and Cas is still watching him, but his whole expression has softened. There is fondness in his eyes, and Dean swallows, his heart beating faster. He has to look at the floor again, shifting uncomfortably where he's sitting. Cas is saying, “You should get some rest. We can talk about it tomorrow.” He's already gotten up and is about to leave when Dean finds his voice again. Their talk had felt awkward, too intimate, and Dean's shoulders are sagging in relief that it is over. And yet – there was that hurt look on Cas' face when Dean had yelled at him to leave him alone. Then the anger, the way he's been avoiding him. And now he's offering Dean his help, with something that can't possibly be important to him.

Dean forces himself to look up, clears his throat though it's not going to help his voice any. “Cas, I'm sorry.” Cas stops in the doorway and turns, a hand on the frame. He looks confused, is just about to say something but Dean beats him to it, forcing the bitter words out through his teeth, “For. The way I – I was.” It's as far as he gets, then there's that strangled feeling in his throat again, and he knows he's reached his limit. Flexing his hands in frustration, he looks up nervously when Cas takes a few steps back into the room. Away from the bright lights of the hallway and back into the soft glow of Dean's bedside lamp. Cas visibly hesitates, then sits back down on front of Dean.

“Dean,” and Dean can't fucking take the gentlenesst in his voice, stares furiously at the floor, “you thought your life was in danger. I wasn't angry with you.” He pauses, shifts in his seat with a rustle of fabric, blows out a breath. “I was angry with myself.” Dean looks up before he can stop himself, but now Cas is the one avoiding his gaze, staring at the wall to his right instead. His jaw is tense, but his cheeks are faintly flushed. There's something like an embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was – I missed you. And when I was here –” he looks at Dean again and Dean freezes, staring into Cas' eyes and feeling his face heat. “Sam wouldn't change anything in your room. Barely even touch a thing. It was like. Like a crypt. Like nothing of you was alive anymore.”

Cas' eyes briefly flicker away from him, hands turning into firsts. He takes a painful sounding breath, loud in the space between them. “I couldn't – so I would sleep here. So you would still be alive.” He swallows heavily and falls silent. They stare at each other for another long moment, neither able to speak. Cas' eyes look wet, and Dean's heart is racing. His chest is too tight. “You should sleep,” Cas finally repeats, quietly. Dean watches the tense line of his shoulders when he leaves. He stays where he is and stares at the empty doorway for a long time. Nothing has changed, and yet his room suddenly looks different, feels different.

He finally falls asleep lying on his side on the edge of the bed, his head turned towards the soft glow of the lamp.

>

It's cold and raining lightly, fog hanging between the trees, when they stop at the side of the road where Magnus' fortress stands. It has taken Dean half the morning to convince Sam to let him go, made worse by the fact that he had to type down almost everything he'd wanted to say. Not like Sam is convinced now – his mouth a thin line and his brow furrowed where he's sitting behind the wheel. But it had been two against one, Cas backing Dean up, staying rooted by Dean's side through the whole of their argument. He hadn't even been saying much, as if careful about not taking away what Dean wanted to express himself.

Dean is staring through the windshield into the line of trees ahead. They have the spell from the Men of Letters files with them, and the ingredients that Crowley had gotten for Sam back when he tried to get inside again. And it should work, now that Magnus is no longer here. But there's no telling what they're gonna find. Dean only has a vague idea of how many creatures Magnus had in his 'zoo', and it's been days since he busted out. There's no telling if any of them are even alive anymore. If they haven't lost their minds yet, free of Magnus' control but trapped without any hope of freedom.

Dean gets out of the car, hunches his shoulders and shivers in his jacket. Cas took the Continental and is just coming to a stop behind them. They decided to take two cars, just in case they needed more space. Dean gets a hollow feeling in his gut when he looks at the empty backseat of the Impala, the empty back of the Continental. There's a chance that they're going to drive back with as much empty space as they came.

Cas walks up to them, looking uncomfortable and tugging his coat closer around himself. He comes to a stop at Dean's side, Sam next to them and already rummaging through the trunk. Dean is watching Sam's hands sort out weapons, overcome by a strange sort of déjà-vu, when Cas shifts his stance at Dean's side. When he looks up, Cas is watching the dark shape that is only just visible above the treeline with apprehension, his jaw all bunched up and tense. Another time, Dean would ask him what he's thinking. Now, all he is capable of is gritting his teeth and ignoring the dread that's trying to settle in his guts. Cas had said he'd be able to identify which creatures had preyed on humans before their captivity, and which had been on – Vampire Zone Diet, or whatever. He didn't elaborate how, but Sam hadn't questioned it when Cas brought it up, so he must've known about it before.

Sam had argued that he and Cas should take care of it alone, without Dean, but Dean had stood his ground. Even though Sam of course had a point – Dean wasn't up to speed, he'd be a liability in a fight. There was the very likely possibility that the monsters holed up in there would react very aggressively upon seeing him – after all, it was his fault that some of them had ended up in there in the first place.

Sam clears his throat and when he looks down, Dean sees that he's impatiently holding out a shotgun to Dean. Dean just shakes his head. He won't carry a weapon inside there. Even though that's gonna make him an even more of a target, will put Sam and Cas' lives at risk. But he can't. It just feels – wrong. Sam makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, throws the shotgun back in and slams the trunk shut.

They make their way through the trees in silence, Dean leading the way. He's slow, stumbling over twigs and roots every few steps. His heart is racing, and he keeps his gaze trained on the ground, though it doesn't help his walking much. His mind can't seem to differentiate between his first walk up here, almost a year back, and his blurry memories from his escape only a few days ago. It's getting steadily darker, the fortress blocking out the bit of sunlight there is. By the time they've reached the clearing, he's shivering even more from the cold sweat that's broken out over his back, and he feels hollow, like he's not all there. Sam and Cas come to a stop at his side, staring up the high wall of red brick and the fake windows reflecting back nothing but empty white and gray.

“Dean?” Cas has put a hand on his shoulder and is looking up at him with concern clear on his face. Dean takes a breath and sets his jaw, forces himself to stand up straighter and holds out his hand for the bowl of ingredients that Sam has carried. Sam looks at him uncertainly, eyebrows raised, “You sure?” Dean blows out an irritated breath and Sam hands it over, but keeps watching Dean like he thinks Dean is gonna set himself on fire with it. Dean decides to ignore him, kneels down and sets the bowl on the ground, lights up the ingredients. He's barely been able to say anything all morning. Now, his voice comes out rough and quiet, “Engrecum doma donami”.

The portal roars to life in front of them, a glaring mouth suddenly open between the rows of red stone. Dean gets to his feet, too quickly, and Cas lays a hand on his arm to steady him. Behind the portal looms an all-too familiar hallway in dark yellow, black wood and rows of paintings. All his instincts telling him to tuck tail and run, Dean steps forward on unsteady legs and right through the portal.


	2. Chapter 2

They make their way through the hallways. Dean is taking the lead, Sam at his back and pointing his gun at every open doorway, “You think you know where – ” He trails off, implication clear, but the words barely register with Dean. His eyes flicker from left to right, too fast, and his throat feels so tight, he can barely draw breath around it. The first two hallways were unfamiliar, but this one, this one he knows. He doesn't recognize the paintings – most of the time he was too blinded by the light after being kept in his prison for days and weeks. But he sets one foot in it, and he knows. Working on instinct, he starts trailing his right hand along the wall while he walks deeper inside. Vaguely, he can hear Cas and Sam saying his name behind him, but it's all but lost in the roaring in his ears.

Halfway down the hallway, he comes to an abrupt stop. He turns, stares at the patch of wall his fingers are still touching. He doesn't know how, but he knows. That's his prison, behind this wall. The hole way down deep, that somehow he'd imagined smelling of earth once.

His withdraws his shaking hand but still can't look away.

“Dean? Dean, what is it?”

He draws in a shaky breath, but then sets his shoulders, determined. After one last look at the wall, he turns from it. And keeps going.

>

He rounds a corner, and there's a hallway with a long row of black doors on the right. Slowly, he keeps going, his throat tight. At first, it's utterly silent. Then he becomes aware of a scratching sound further down the row of doors, like nails against steel. There's a faint wailing sound from somewhere closer, but it's cut off abruptly. Dean stops in front of the first door, and Sam brushes past him, starts fiddling with the lock. They'd found the storage room where Magnus kept the food for his “pets” – but not the keys. Cas comes to a stand at Dean's left side, angel blade gleaming faintly in the soft yellow lighting. The light must be magical, there's no visible source for it. It's just there, and it used to hurt him, made him think he was blind when they dragged him out.

Sam curses under his breath and straightens, the lock on the cell door still in place. “Step back,” and after the second shot, the door opens to the inside. He immediately raises his gun again, steps forward and blocks the room from Dean's view. Then, his shoulders slump and he steps aside again, shoots Dean an unreadable look. The room is small and without light. There's a sink on the right, and a cot at the far wall. A man is lying on it, wearing washed out brown cord jeans and a white shirt with spots of red down the front. His lifeless face is turned towards the door, fangs reflecting back the light from the hallway. He must have died of starvation, without Magnus feeding him. Dean's breath hitches. He has to turn his face away.

The next four doors are the same, three more dead vamps and one werewolf. Dean recognizes two of them, one of the vamps that sat beside him in the car several times, and one of the werewolves that dragged him out of the hotel after he killed Abaddon. When they finally find one that it still alive, the werewolf is so out of his mind with hunger that he can't seem to hear what Sam is saying. Sam puts him down with two quick shots. Behind the next door is another vampire. He's standing in the middle of the cell, swaying slightly on his feet. Feverish eyes stare at them fixedly, flickering between their faces and the gun trained on him, the machete in Sam's other hand. Cas steps forward and stares at the guy for a long moment before looking at Sam and shaking his head. Sam raises his gun.

The next cell is empty. In the one after that, a woman is sitting on the cot. She has long brown hair and looks pale but calm. Several empty blood bags are stacked up near the foot of the bed. She looks up when Sam steps forward, is panting slightly but making no move to attack them. Cas steps into the room next to Sam, and after a few tense seconds, he nods. Sam lowers the gun and the machete with a sigh, the vampire following his movements nervously. “It's okay, we're here to help you. What's your – ” Dean shifts his weight where he's still standing outside the door, relief washing through him that at least one of them is alive, one they won't have to worry about setting free. The woman's head snaps up at his movement, and she stares right past Cas and Sam and at Dean. Slowly, she rises to her feet. Sam's posture stiffens warily, but she doesn't seem to even notice. “It's you,” and her voice is roughened and breathy, soft with wonder, “the Prisoner.”

Dean's breath catches, he stares at her in confusion. She said it like it was his name. “He kept you in the dark, didn't he.” Her eyes are sad and he cannot look away, feels his throat working but no words come out. She sighs and raises her hands, addressing Sam and Cas, “You have nothing to fear from me. But if you could get me out of here – ” Sam nods, jerks his head towards the direction they came from, “There's a storage a few doors down, can't miss it. Get what you need from there, we'll finish here.” She nods, throws Dean another sad look when she walks past him. He swallows heavily and stares at the floor until she's gone.

In the next cell, there's a guy who doesn't look older than twenty-five crouched down in the corner of the room farthest away from the door, pressed into the tiny space between the cot and the wall. He's gangly and pale, trembling all over and staring at them in abject terror. “Please don't kill me, please!” Judging from the absence of blood bags, he must be a werewolf. Cas gives Sam a nod, and Sam lowers his gun, “It's okay, nobody's gonna kill you. What's your name?” The guy sniffs miserably, staring at them in confusion. “D-Dan. I don't understand. Where is –” He cuts himself off when the woman comes back. She's looking somewhat steadier on her feet and goes over to help Dan up, “It's okay. The man is gone. They're here to help.”

They find a dead shapeshifter in the next cell, and a girl in the last. She can't be older than nineteen, wearing skinny jeans and frowning at them in apprehension. She has brown skin and long black hair, and when Cas says they're here to free her, she hisses at him and shows her fangs. The look of mistrust on her face shifts into one of seething hate when she spots Dean in the hallway. “I didn't ask for help. Much less help from the likes of _demons_!” Sam and Cas share a confused look, “Why would you think we are –” She takes a step towards them, aggressive, her teeth grinding, “Are you stupid?! I know what _he_ is, I have seen it!”

Dean stares at her, dread spreading through his insides like ice. He remembers her. Sam starts to explain that Dean isn't what she thinks he is anymore, and Dean steps into the cell with them, holds his right hand out to Sam. His brother cuts himself off, shoots another wary look towards the girl and then puts the gun away, takes the machete into his left hand and uses the other to demonstratively dribble holy water over Dean's skin. “See? No demon. Now, if you want us to – ” But she doesn't seem to even hear him. She jumps forward and her fist slams into Dean's face, her knee rams into his stomach. He doubles over, takes a knee, can't breathe. There are several voices shouting at once but hers is the loudest, for he can hear the agony behind it. “I saw you, I saw you slaughter my entire nest! My _family_! I saw you _enjoy_ it! I will never forgive you, I – ”

Someone heaves him up by the armpits, takes most of his weight and stumbles with him out into the hallway, leans him up against the wall. He blinks, sharp pinpricks of pain stabbing through his right eye. In a few hours, it's going to be black. The vampire woman is holding him up like he weighs nothing, sympathy and curiosity on her face as she watches him. He mouth is twisted into a wry smile, “I go away for two minutes and you guys start to party without me?” He huffs out a breath of surprised laughter, then immediately regrets it when his head starts pounding. He glances towards the cell but the door is partly closed, Sam and Cas' voices muffled behind it.

“My name's Tina. What's yours?” He stares at her, taken aback. He thinks he recognizes her – she sat beside him in the car a few times. He opens his mouth but has to clear his throat before any sound makes it out. Even then, he can barely make himself talk above a whisper. “Dean.” She smiles, lifts a hand. “Nice to meet you, Dean.” She obviously knows, but doesn't mention, that technically they have met before. It's all there in her eyes. But she shakes Dean's hand when he offers it, like it's the most normal thing. Dean feels himself calm in her presence. She radiates a strength that has nothing to do with her supernatural abilities.

Tina takes the girl back to the storage room when she exits the cell flanked by Cas and Sam. His brother looks frustrated and tired, “So, that's everyone. She says her name's Alex, but that's about all I could get outta her. I don't think she's gonna attack you again, she wants out of here.” Dean nods, stares dejectedly at the cell doors. Black and black and black. Shrouded in magic and silence, they would have been forgotten over time. No one would have ever come for them. It never would have ended. “Dean?” Cas moves into his line of vision, his brows furrowed with worry. Dean swallows heavily and looks at the floor, whispers, “I want to burn it.” Hot anger and a paralyzing sadness well up in his chest, “I want to burn it. To the ground.”

>

They carry the bodies outside to bury. Alex refuses to help, and Dan turns green at the very mention of it, so the two of them just sort of stand by the sidelines (or, in Dan's case, stare at the trees like they're the most fascinating things he's ever seen, with sweat beaded on his forehead). Dean carries the body of the first vampire they found through the portal and outside, but then has to crouch down and let Sam and Cas do the digging. His right arm is trembling from the exertion and absolutely useless. He fucking hates it, having to watch, but at least he could do something. At least the bodies are now outside and no longer concealed in silence.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it's stupid. They're dead, what do they care. The only one who's gonna feel better because of it is him. He couldn't just leave them in there. He's still itching to just set fire to the whole place right here and now. But Sam kept objecting until he'd relented, his brother's expression a blend of frustration and concern, “No one but us can even get in there, Dean. And we don't know what exactly Magnus has stored in there, if it's gonna blow up in our faces if be burn it.” On top of that, they're all tired and they have Dan, Tina and Alex to take care of. They can't just abandon them here in the middle of nowhere. But every time he looks up at the fortress, icy shivers run over his skin and he has to grind his teeth against the thought that it's mocking him, still standing proud and undamaged while he's on his knees on the muddy ground.

Sam and Cas are shoveling dirt back into the graves and Dean is plucking absently at the grass in front of him, staring at his feet. Tina walks over to stand at his side, “I'm going to take Alex with me, see if I can find someone who'll take her in. She won't say, but I think she's scared to be out there on her own.” Dean looks over to where Dan and Alex are standing a few feet away from all of them (and a good five feet apart from each other). He's wondered why Magnus would have taken Dan in the first place, but on the other hand, he was probably easier to capture than others before Magnus had – before he had Dean. He looks up to Tina and she smiles, crouches down next to him. “Thank you, Dean.” Her voice is soft, the gratitude open and genuine.

Dean can't look at her. He plucks at the grass. Tina doesn't seem to mind, she stays with him until Cas and Sam are finished and walk over to them. “I think we're done here. Dean?” Dean pushes himself to standing again, trying and failing to hide how wobbly his knees feel. Cas reaches for his elbow but Dean steps away from the attempt to steady him. He nods in response to Sam's question, not looking at either of them. Dan and Alex have wandered over by now too, Alex standing the farthest away from all of them, glaring with her arms crossed over her chest. Dan is shifting his weight nervously, gaze flickering back and forth between all of them, like he's still expecting someone to gank him at any moment. “So, uh,” Sam clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, “can we give you guys a ride somewhere?”

Tina glances at Alex, then looks back to Sam. “There used to be some folks I know living just a few miles off O'Neill, up in Holt County. They'll help us out.” Sam is already nodding and starts to reply when Alex interrupts him, “I am _not_ getting into a car with that _thing_.” She glares openly at Dean, her eyes dark with rage. He clenches his jaw and has to look away. Sam glares right back at Alex, clearly struggling to be patient, “Well, you're not. You're driving with me and Tina, who is nice enough to help you out. You should be grateful.” Alex makes a noise like a bitter laugh and looks off to the side, but she doesn't protest again.

“Cas, you take Dean and – whatever your name was.” Dan flinches at being addressed and nods enthusiastically, gaze flickering over to Cas. He seems to be avoiding looking at Dean directly, and Dean is not sure if that's better than Alex' open hostility or worse. Sam makes an impatient noise and picks up their shovels, “Come on, let's get out of here.” While the others start walking away from the clearing, Dean hangs back for a moment. Slowly, he forces his eyes up, and the windows that aren't windows are still reflecting white and gray back at him. Empty, unseeing. Nothing but an illusion. He shivers and turns to follow the others, gaze focused on the ground, on every single step.

>

It starts to drizzle shortly before they reach the cars. Sam corners him before he can get inside the Continental, shoves a jacket at Dean with an expression like he's gonna tie it around Dean's head if Dean refuses. He rolls his eyes in annoyance and takes it out of Sam's hands. Sam ignores Dean's disgruntled expression and just claps him on the shoulder, “See you guys later then. Wear the jacket Dean, you need to keep warm.” He doesn't wait for Dean to think of another way to communicate his annoyance non-verbally, just gets into the Impala where Alex is already sitting in the backseat.

Dean quickly forgets about being annoyed when Tina comes over to say goodbye. He holds up a hand and turns to catch Cas' eyes where he's standing at the driver's side. Dean pantomimes writing and Cas looks at him for a long moment but gets it quickly, opens the door and rummages around inside. He hands Dean a pen and a piece of paper that looks like it came from one of those sticky notes thingies, only the glue has long since dried up. The pen is cheap and makes spots, and Dean has to sit down inside the car and use the dashboard for writing because the roof of the car is already too wet. His right hand is still trembling slightly, and he has to write slow to make it decipherable. He writes, 'if you ever need help', and two of his phone numbers. Tina folds it and puts it in her pocket when he hands it to her. She moves to step away, a hand already held up to wave, and Dean decides to risk it, clears his throat, “You – gonna be okay?” It's quiet, but she hears it. Her expression softens further, and she salutes at him, “Always am.”

>

It starts to rain heavily a few minutes after they've left the woods behind, following the Impala back to the main road. Dan is sitting in the backseat, looking deeply uncomfortable when Cas asks him where he wants to go. “I'm, uh. I actually have a tree farm down in Louisburg. Or, I had. It's been months, I don't know – what happened to it.” Dean, slumped in the shotgun seat with his head resting against the window, opens his eyes to look at Dan's reflection in the side mirror. Dan looks close to tears at the thought that his home might be gone, and he's shivering in his thin and wet clothing. Dean sits up straighter and cranks the heat up some more – it doesn't help much, he is going to have to take a look at that thing, maybe it's busted – and picks up the jacket that Sam had forced on him from where it's just been lying uselessly over his legs. He turns halfway in his seat and holds the jacket out to Dan with his left arm.

Dan's eyes widen almost comically in surprise, like he has no idea what Dean wants from him. Very hesitatingly, he takes the jacket and shrugs it on, huddles into it. “Thank you,” and it's almost a question. The jacket is too big, but somehow it appears to make Dan feel more at ease. For the first time, he seems to find the courage to look at Dean directly, eyeing him almost curiously now. “Your – your name is Dean?” From the corners of his vision, Dean sees Cas shooting a glance at him, but he doesn't say anything. Dean catches Dan's eyes in the rearview mirror, but before he can so much as nod Dan is already plowing on, almost stumbling over his words, “It's just, I mean I remember you, but I don't – know you. And uh, I used to haul you around a lot, not that I wanted to, I'm sorry about that – I was actually super afraid of you, but it wasn't _you_ , so, uh. Is he – is he really gone?”

It takes Dean a moment to understand that Dan isn't asking if the thing Dean was is really gone, but Magnus. He looks away from Dan's anxious expression, and it's quiet except for the sound of the rain hitting the windshield. Cas doesn't say anything although he could clearly answer the question. He's waiting if Dean can answer himself. Dean takes a breath, stares down at his hands and gets it out in a rough whisper, “He's – he's gone.” Dan's shoulders slump in relief, he sinks against the backseat with a sigh. “Dean? Do you want to come with us, or should I drop you off at the – at home?” He can feel Cas glancing at him, and Dean sighs, frustrated, and then makes a 'keep going' gesture with his left hand.

Cas just says, “Alright”, and if he disapproves of Dean's decision it isn't traceable in his tone. Since Magnus' fortress isn't more than a few miles away from the Bunker, it doesn't take them long to make it to US-24 E. It's still pissing rain, and Cas is driving slower than Dean would, so he estimates it's gonna them about five hours down to Louisburg. He leans his head back against the cool window and listens to sound of the water hitting the glass, the tires on the highway.

>

“ – like them. They're calm. I have a lot more than I need, I guess. I just like having them 'round.” The soft words are followed by quiet, nervous laughter. Dean blinks sleep out of his eyes, turns his head up a bit to get a better look around. Outside, the rain has let up but it's still gray in gray. A car passes them, its light silver paint blending weirdly with the sky ahead, and then there's Cas quiet rumble, “Isn't that hard? Taking care of all of them all by yourself?” Dean blinks again, confused, sits up a bit straighter. Dan is saying, “I can distinguish the trees by – by how they smell. So I always know when something's wrong, like they need more water or something. But, uhm. Sometimes it's a bit lonely. 'Cause no one can know what I am.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his eyes and regrets it immediately when the bruises around his right eye flare up with pain. He looks over at Cas, who has his eyes on the road but looks far more relaxed while driving than the last time Dean saw him do it. “I think I can relate,” Cas says, and there is silence from the backseat for a moment. Dan's voice sounds more curious than wary when he asks, “Aren't you human?” Dean watches Cas switch lanes, and finds himself waiting for Cas' reply along with Dan. Dean knows the answer, more or less. But Cas has been quiet all day, and before that, all their conversations have either been about what happened to Dean, or riddled with silences and misunderstandings. It feels like a far too long time since he has heard Cas just talk, especially about himself.

“I am, for the most part. But I didn't use to be. I was once an Angel.” There's a startled gasp of surprise from Dan, “Seriously?! Holy shit! I mean, sorry, I mean – oh my god!” Dean can't help but smile while Dan stumbles around his words for another moment. Cas looks over to Dean, and he doesn't say anything, but his expression lightens further, and by the time he looks back at the road there's a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Dan seems to have finally gotten control over himself back enough to ask, “But if you're not anymore – how come you knew which of us were dangerous and which weren't?”

Cas is quiet for a moment, but he's looking more contemplative than sad. “I don't know why it's different this time. Maybe I've just gone back and forth – between human and Angel – one too many times. I don't really know what I am anymore. But I've started to think that maybe that's okay. To not be one definite thing. That you can be several things, without one denying the other.”

Silence falls over the car while Dan seems to be mulling this over. Dean finally looks away from Cas and back down where his hands are resting in his lap. The left has ink stains on it from when he'd been holding the note he gave Tina flat to write on it. The fingers of his right hand are curled more than those of the left, and visibly trembling in a way that has nothing to do with the vibrations of the car. A lot has happened to Cas since the last time Dean saw him, he has changed, and Dean wasn't there to see it. It's time that he can't get back, because it was taken from him. That's over now, but what if it hasn't changed who _Dean_ is? The Mark is gone, Magnus is gone, the Blade is gone. But the one who started it, that was him. The thing he became, the thing he never wants to be again – it was still him.

“Dean? Do you want some water?” He looks up and Cas is holding a water bottle out to him, already uncapped. Dean takes it with his left hand, and their fingers brush. He's weirdly startled by how warm Cas' fingers feel compared to his own. Maybe it's warmer in here than he thought. Or he's colder than he feels. He sips from the water and keeps his head down. It's raining again.

>

It starts getting dark shortly after they've reached Ottawa, turning onto KS-68 E, with Dan reading the directions off of Cas' phone. “Sorry,” he'd said, when Cas asked him for the shortest way to take, “I don't drive around much.” Dean remembers sitting shotgun as a kid, a giant map with tattered edges on his knees, reading road names out to his Dad. He'd felt important, getting to do this, being trusted with it. But he'd never really liked it, because it made him nauseous to read while the car was moving, but he couldn't make a mistake either. And Sammy was probably way better at it than him, but Sammy was in the backseat, and was supposed to play, or to sleep. And he was not supposed to see all the red and black dots and crosses on the map, and ask what they meant.

They drive all the way out to the tree farm, because when Cas had asked Dan where he lived, Dan had looked ashamed and uncomfortable, and finally mumbled something about a cot and a shower stall in the back of his office. “It's okay really, I don't mind. I'm outside most of the time anyway.” When they stop at the entry of the farm, Dan peeks out the window and remarks surprised that everything looks okay, and he should be able to get in. Cas hands Dean another of the non-sticky sticky notes without Dean even having to ask for it, only this time, he writes his own phone number under Dean's. Getting Dan to take the note turns out to be the real challenge, as is convincing him that he doesn't have to pay them for giving him a ride.

“Thank you, seriously. Both of you,” He's wringing his hands, looking back and forth between them. “Not many, uh, people, would let me live, after, uh. There's not many who are nice to me after finding out what I am.” He holds out his hand and shakes Cas and then Dean's hand. His grip is so lax his fingers almost slip out of Dean's, but he guesses that it's less Dan still being afraid of him and more that he's figured Dean is battered and should be handled with care. Dean tries not to be offended. It's not like his own hand has much of a grip right now, and anyway, he has decided that he likes Dan. The kid has had a rough enough time, he deserves to get away with something.

They watch Dan stumble out into the rain and climb over the fence surrounding the farm like it's no barrier for him at all. He disappears between the trees and is gone. For a moment, the only sound is the rain hitting the roof, and then Cas' stomach grumbles loudly into the silence. Dean is so startled he breathes out a laugh, and for some reason, Cas looks weirdly embarrassed. “Sometimes I forget,” he says, almost defensively, “It happens. Aren't you hungry?” He turns to squint at Dean, but Dean just shrugs. It's true, they haven't eaten since this morning, and Dean hadn't even really been eating then, too focused on getting Sam to understand what he had to do, and that he had to do it _now_. But he doesn't really know if he's hungry, mostly he just feels exhausted.

Cas is thumbing through something on his phone, “I had Dan look up motels while I was driving. There is a very cheap one in Harrisonville. I think that's close.” Dean leans over to look at the screen. The motel is located just off Interstate 49, shouldn't take them more than half an hour. “I thought we might stay there, get something to eat and drive back tomorrow.” It's already dark, they're both tired, and it's not like Dean can drive. Still, when he raises his head to look at Dean, Cas seems strangely uncertain about the whole thing. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the car feels way more tense than when Dan was still there.

Dean watches the rain visible in the rays of the Continental's headlights and nods, uncomfortably aware of his own silence in a way he hasn't been in hours. Cas shifts in his seat, and when he speaks next his voice is much quieter than before. “Dean, if you don't want to talk, you don't have to. I'd just like you to know that if you want, I will listen.” Dean continues to stare out into the rain, trying to breathe flatly against the pressure on his chest. Cas doesn't seem to expect anything from him though, just turns the car around and drives back to the main road.

The entire way, Dean stares at the lights to his right, and the lights of the cars that drive past them. The windows aren't black, but looking at the lights helps him not to think. When they turn into the motel's parking lot, he sighs in relief. Cas glances at him but let's him be.


	3. Chapter 3

The room has two beds, with wine red comforters and some sort of nature paintings with subdued colors. They have a microwave and the heavy curtains are green plaid. Dean takes a quick look around, then flops down on the bed closest to the door. Cas had gotten them a double without even asking, like of course he wasn't going to leave Dean alone. Cas had smiled at the elderly, curly-haired lady at the check-in and handed over his fake credit card with what looked like practiced ease. Vaguely, Dean thinks he should maybe be offended Cas didn't ask, and that this is a bad idea. But the covers are soft and smell clean, and it's just too nice to lie down on his side and close his eyes and listen to the sounds of Cas inspecting the room.

Dean drifts for a moment, then wearily looks up when it's suddenly quiet. Cas is standing by the door, turning his key card over in his hands. “There's a gas station nearby. Do you want anything?” Dean looks at him, momentarily confused and feeling like Cas is actually asking him something else. He thinks he should try and say something, then falters at the last moment and just shakes his head, shimmies further up on the bed and avoids Cas' eyes. There is a long, silent moment with Cas just standing there, as if unsure whether to leave or stay. “I'll be right back.” Then the quiet sound of the door opening and closing with a click.

>

Dean wakes up to the sound of rustling. He blinks his eyes open and turns around. There's a plastic bag on the other bed, and Cas is standing by the window. Since the door had to be closed, Dean had opened the window to lessen the anxiety crawling over his skin. A cold draft is coming in, and there's probably rain hitting the window sill and maybe even the carpet. The curtains are moving softly in the breeze, and Cas is staring at them as if he thinks he should close the window, but he isn't making any move to do so. Dean sighs and shifts on the bed, sits up more fully and snaps his fingers to get Cas' attention. He motions at the window with his left hand, then shrugs, trying to convey that Cas can close it if he wants. Cas looks at him uncertainly, then settles on leaving the window ajar and comes over to sit down on his bed. The distance between the beds is barely two feet. If Dean sat on the edge of the mattress, their knees would brush. He doesn't move. “I got us toothbrushes. And shower gel.” Dean watches Cas rifle through the plastic bag. Cas rips open the cheap plastic containers around the toothbrushes, his face scrunched up in distaste, as if remembering something unpleasant. “I used a motel's soap once, and it smelled like – ” He pauses, looks briefly at the ceiling. “I don't know,” he finally says, “but I hated it. I'm not trusting it again.” He looks so rightfully offended it makes Dean smile.

“Which one do you – ” Cas looks up, toothbrushes in hand, and abruptly cuts himself off. He stares at Dean, his expression one of surprise, but there's something else beneath it. Something fragile, and Dean can feel his face heat. He pushes himself up, avoiding Cas' eyes, grabs his bag and plucks the blue toothbrush out of Cas' lax grip. He hesitates, then holds out his hand for the shower gel and the toothpaste. Cas seems utterly lost for a moment, then hands it to him. Dean shuffles into the bathroom, then closes the door behind himself and leans against it with his back. His heart is hammering, and he has no idea what that just was. Dean decides to just focus on showering, takes his mud-splattered clothes off and chucks them in one corner.

The sink is a hideous yellow color and the shower is tiny, but at least the water pressure is decent. The water doesn't get as hot as Dean would have liked, but it still helps soothe the bunched up muscles in his back. The shower gel Cas has bought smells kind of flowery, but not overwhelmingly so. He brushes a hand over the fogged-up mirror after he steps out of the shower. The skin around his right eye is darkly bruised. Dean stares at it for a moment, rubs a hand over the glass again and looks down at the ugly sink while he brushes his teeth. He pulls some fresh clothes on, his arms clumsy with exhaustion. When he exists the bathroom, Cas is still sitting where he left him, slowly eating a sandwich with a far-away look on his face.

Dean lets his boots and jacket fall down at end of the bed and belatedly realizes Dan took his other jacket with him. It doesn't matter much. He's used to hunting being hell on clothes.

Dean flops back down on the bed, then shuffles up until he can lean against the headboard. Lying down flat had been easier in the bunker; either he was alone in his room, or on the couch, with everyone else sitting on the floor. He stuffs the pillow under his back, trying to get comfortable, and scowls at the bottled water on the nightstand between their beds. There's always some cheap whiskey in Baby's trunk, but Baby ain't here. And his stomach has just begun to settle enough that he can drink cool water again. He longs for something to just make him forget for a while, put him to sleep. But then there's the phantom touch of the Sing – of _Magnus_ ' hand on his head, doing just that. Emptying his mind, telling his soul to sleep and his hunger to take over. Dean shivers and briefly squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to push the memory away.

“Dean?”

He blinks, belatedly realizes he's been rubbing his hand over his right forearm almost aggressively, fingers of his right hand curled into a fist and trembling visibly. Dean forces himself to stop with an effort; lets his left hand fall into his lap and curls the fingers of his right into the bedspread. Refuses to look at Cas. He stares at the bedspread instead, but it's dark red and violent and ugly and finally he has to close his eyes, drag in a shuddering breath, his blood rushing in his ears.

There's a rustling sound, and then the mattress dips with Cas' weight. Dean instinctively tenses, shoots a warning look at Cas.

Cas just looks at him steadily, holds out his hand, “Can I?”

Dean is about to shake his head, then hesitates. There's a war in his head, the part of him that wants to clam up and hide his weakness fighting with the knowledge that the touch of Cas' hand is _safe_ , that it grounded him the last time he lost it. He eyes Cas' loose posture for a moment. Cas looks worried but collected, and Dean uncurls his fingers from the bedspread and slowly extends his right arm to Cas. The effort of it makes the trembling worse, but Cas shuffles closer on his knees, gently supports Dean's arm at the wrist and elbow. It immediately makes Dean's heart rate pick up a notch. He goes still under Cas' touch, his breathing flat and his jaw tense.

Cas keeps his gaze trained on Dean's arm, turns it slightly in his hold and strokes his thumb over the mottled scar tissue just under the bend of the elbow. It doesn't hurt, just tingles faintly, but Dean still draws in a sharp breath before he can stop himself. Cas immediately looks up, “Does that hurt?”

Dean shakes his head, then shrugs. It feels – he doesn't know. Strange, maybe.

Cas hums thoughtfully. He shifts so that Dean's arm rests on his upturned knee and strokes his fingers down with light pressure until he's holding Dean's hand in both of his. But he doesn't stop, instead strokes over the back of Dean's hand and gently digs his thumbs into the palm in a kind of massage. Dean swallows and stares, transfixed. Cas' hands are soft if slightly calloused, and Dean has no idea what Cas is doing. It had hurt when he got the mark – white-hot venom crawling under his skin and through his veins – and when it left him, it had hurt even worse. But except for the white scar tissue where the mark used to be and some mostly healed abrasions, there is no visible damage to his arm now.

“I don't think you have muscle damage,” Cas says. “Your nerves are probably overtaxed. The connection between you and the First Blade – I imagine it was like a part of you when you held it. Now your body and mind experience the sudden loss like the phantom pain of a missing limb.” He pauses a moment, then continues. “Apparently stress can trigger it. But it might also happen seemingly at random.”

Dean looks down to where Cas has gone back to massaging his forearm with slow, sure and steady movements. It's strange, having Cas touch him like that – they never used to touch much before. But it's better than a stranger touching him. Dean doesn't think he could handle that yet. Which is a shit sad thought – only roughly a year ago he would've yearned for someone who didn't know him to touch him with affection. To have that brief moment of bliss. Now, it's the surety of Cas' touch that he finds himself craving. Everyone is walking on eggshells around him, standing an arm's length away, constantly hesitating.

Dean looks down at his arm, his lax fingers. _Phantom pain_. He had figured something like this. It probably explains the noise he heard in his head too. Didn't make it sound or feel any less real.

Dean lifts his left hand and waves it in Cas' line of sight. Then, when Cas looks up, points at his ear and then his head. Cas' fingers go still on Dean's arm. He watches Dean's pathetic attempts at pantomiming what he means, and then furrows his brow in thought. “You hear something in your head?”

Dean makes something like a half-shake of his head.

“Not right now?” Cas guesses.

Dean nods.

“What do you hear?” Cas sounds concerned, but he stays calm. Doesn't fidget or raise his voice. Dean is grateful for it.

Dean looks around for something to help him explain. There is a smoke detector at the ceiling, and he points at that. Cas' frown deepens when he understands.

“Oh. That must be – annoying.”

Dean snorts. Tell him about it.

“Does it happen often?”

Dean shakes his head, holds up a finger.

“Once. Okay.”

Well, it's not quite true – but he figures it's only important that he heard it even after the mark was gone and the Blade destroyed.

Dean hesitates, then makes a fist and bumps it softly against his chest.

Cas watches and is silent for a moment.

“It – scares you.”

Dean shrugs and looks away, uncomfortable with the admission.

“Okay,” Cas says at length. “If it happens again, tell me. I think if we can get you to focus on something else it might stop faster and you will panic less.”

Cas sounds confident. Dean is less sure, but he just nods, still avoiding eye contact. It's clear from Cas' answer that he has connected the whole thing to when Dean ran out on them and begged Cas to “make it stop”. Mercifully, Cas doesn't mention any of it. He just gently folds Dean's fingers back towards his palm and then lets go off his arm, retreating from Dean's space.

“I should let you get some sleep now.”

Cas fishes some stuff out of his bag and then goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.

Dean leans back against the headboard, carefully flexes his fingers. The pain has simmered down to a dull ache and the tremble has lessened.

His phone buzzes with a text where it lays on top of his jacket at the footrest and he flinches. It's one of his spare ones – he doesn't know what happened to the one he had when Magnus decided to make a zoo exhibit out of him. The text is probably Sam. Dean shuffles over and picks it up with his left hand.

_Driving back now. You and Cas okay?_

Dean rolls his eyes. He switches hands, holds the phone with his right and awkwardly types with his left.

_Crashing at motel for the night. Tina and Alex?_

It only takes a few seconds for his phone to buzz again in his hand.

_Took awhile to find Tina's folks. But they're good now. I think._

Dean breathes easier at that. Except for Alex he has no idea how long Magnus had any of them. It's relieving to hear they're gonna have help recovering.

_Good. See you tomorrow._

He turns the screen off and puts the phone on the nightstand. Settles on his side, still propped up by the pillow and facing the door. The shower is running in the bathroom. His heart slows while he listens to the water and his eyes drift shut.

>

It's dark red and violent – the blood seeping into the grass. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks _this is wrong_. He didn't watch when this happened. Did he? His heart races. The blood flows towards him, almost black. Magnus' unseeing eyes stare at him, accusing. This is wrong too, he didn't – but he cannot look away. He cannot move. Not breathe.

_You disobeyed me. You disobeyed._

The voice slices through his mind, sharp and cold. His chest is burning, his ribs carving in. The eyes roll back in the head, and the head separates itself from the body, crumbling to ash.

Dean jerks awake with a gasp. Scrambles to move into an upright position so fast, pain spikes up his right arm. It barely registers with him. Someone behind him is repeatedly saying his name, and he turns towards them, blinks against the light. His blood is rushing in his ears. He's vaguely aware he's breathing too fast. But he can't make himself focus on it because the images still play out behind his eyes and they're _wrong_ – and he knows why.

It's only been days. Magnus' body should have still been there. _Something_ should have been there. And there was nothing. It's not over. Dean will have to go back and look, he will have to –

“Dean!”

Cas' stern voice cuts through his racing thoughts, and he blinks in disorientation. Spots are dancing in his vision. Cas is crouched down in front of him. Once Dean is looking at him, Cas reaches out a hand and takes Dean's left and lays it over his wrist, wraps Dean's fingers around it.

“I want you to squeeze my wrist, okay? And then hold it. Focus on that.”

Dean wants to scoff at that, but he doesn't have the breath for it. He tightens the hold of his fingers around Cas' wrist, feels Cas' steady pulse against his fingertips. He concentrates on that, and gradually, his body calms down. His hand is shaking lightly when he finally withdraws it to rub it over his face. Cas rises slowly, then sits down at the edge of his bed opposite from Dean. He claps his hands between his knees and watches Dean calmly but with eyes soft with worry.

“Tell me?”

Dean takes a deep breath, then picks up his phone with still slightly shaking fingers. He opens a text message, then thinks better of it and opens a note app instead.

_body should have been there outside where is it_

Cas waits patiently and then frowns down at Dean's phone when he hands it over.

“Body – you mean Magnus?”

Cas looks back up and Dean nods.

Something flickers through Cas' eyes but then he hands Dean his phone back and shakes his head. “Dean, it's been days – there are animals.”

Dean snorts.

_it was right outside at the front there was NOTHING_

Cas sighs when he reads it. “Dean – ”

Dean gets up, angry, starts randomly throwing stuff back into his bag.

“Dean, what are you doing – ”

He sits back down on the bed and starts pulling his boots back on. His right hand isn't cooperating, and it only makes him yank at the laces in impatience.

Cas stands up and looms over him, his voice still soft but laced with criticism.

“Dean, it's barely five in the morning. And you shouldn't – ”

Dean straightens and digs his fingers into his thighs for a moment, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, tries to reign in his anger. He wants to yell at Cas, and he can't. Frustration is burning in his guts like bitter acid. When he opens his eyes again, Cas is holding the phone out to him like a peace offering. Dean yanks it out of his grip, types, then stands up and slaps it back in Cas' open palm.

_I shouldn't go back because I can't handle it is that what you're saying_

Cas' jaw tenses up while he reads. When he looks back up at Dean, he looks apologetic but stern.

“I'm saying there's no need to go back. At least not right now – ” He adds when Dean scoffs and turns his face away. “Dean, Magnus had who knows how many spells cast on himself. It's very likely that his body just disintegrated after a while.” Cas goes quiet for a moment. Dean makes no further move to leave, just stands there and glares furiously at the wall. He doesn't take back his phone either – Cas might be right, or he might not be. Dean's nightmare is still nagging at his heels. He doesn't know if he can trust his own mind, and that is what frightens him the most.

Cas sighs softly. “Do you think you can go back to sleep? Or should we drive back home?”

Dean finally meets Cas eyes again. He feels his shoulders sag – in relief or defeat, he doesn't even know. He carefully takes his phone back.

_Home._

>

The Impala is parked outside when they arrive at the bunker. Dean frowns at her when Cas parks the Continental several feet behind her. He wouldn't have thought Sam would be back before them – but they've barely made it down the stairs when Sam walks towards them, a bag thrown over his shoulder. He stops in his tracks when he sees them, clearly startled, “Oh, hey. You guys are back early. Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says, coming to a stop besides Dean and frowning at Sam's bag, “the beds just sucked.”

Dean throws Cas a glance. Cas isn't exactly lying – the mattresses had nothing on his memory foam – but that's not why they left. But he makes no move to correct him. Dean can tell Sam about the Magnus thing later.

Except, it doesn't look like Sam is staying.

Sam makes a sympathetic face at Cas' answer, chuckles a bit. “Yeah, I believe you.” He looks about as tired as Dean feels, but then Sam smiles, his eyes shifting to Dean, “Good news though, I don't think we have to worry about Magnus' fortress-thing for now.”

Dean exchanges a confused look with Cas, but Cas looks about just as clueless. He sounds almost apprehensive though when he asks, “Why, what did you find?”

Sam looks excited. “Remember all that stuff we dug through in the Men of Letters files? I found the spell he used to make the fortress invisible – so I went back there and turned it back on. No one can see it, we don't have to go back for it again. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”

Dean isn't so sure. But at least innocent people are safe from stumbling upon it now.

Sam deflates a bit when Dean doesn't say anything, shoots a questioning glance at Cas that sets Dean's teeth on edge. Sam covers it up quickly though, straightens his back again and adjusts the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Anyway, I caught a case in Fall River. Gonna be back in a few days.”

Sam makes to move past them, a tight smile on his face. Dean opens his mouth, momentarily forgetting he can't verbally demand Sam to give him more details. It doesn't matter though because Cas would have beaten him to the punch anyway, frowning and asking, “What case?”

Sam sighs, looking mildly annoyed. “Look, it might be nothing, okay? Just some suspicious deaths in a hotel. I'm gonna check it out, and I'll call you if I need back-up.”

Dean listens and then raises his eyebrows at him. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be included in said back-up. And only about a day ago Sam was constantly looming over him like Dean was some sick puppy he had to make sure didn't trip over its own feet.

Sam visibly deflates, his eyes skidding away from Dean's. “Look – Dean, it's. It's great to have you back and all, believe me. But I – I need some time.” He takes a breath, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I've been down here, for _weeks_ , on my own, trying to find a way to save – ” He breaks himself off, swallowing heavily. “I just need some time.”

Dean's chest feels too tight. He nods, gaze falling away from Sam and to the floor.

Sam clears his throat, awkwardly claps Dean on the shoulder. “You just – concentrate on getting better.” Then he shifts towards Cas, briefly shooting a guilty look at Dean, “Uh, Cas? Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Cas looks uncomfortable, clearly aware that Sam means having a talk with Dean out of earshot. But he squares his shoulders, keeps his eyes on Sam when he says, “Yes. Of course.”

Dean scowls at them, but Cas won't look at him and Sam has his stubborn and determined shoulders going. So he just rolls his eyes, huffs out a breath and then stomps off to his room.

>

When Cas knocks at the frame of the wide open door, Dean has been sitting on his bed for a while, staring morosely at the weapons on his walls. He's kind of tired – he's always tired lately – but feeling too twitchy to lie down. Dean looks up immediately at the sound and the movement at the corners of his vision, but it only briefly makes him tense up.

Cas looks guilty, and only hesitantly meets Dean's eyes. He also looks about as tired as Dean feels, and the last of Dean's anger melts away. He shifts to face Cas more fully and motions for him get inside. Cas takes a few steps inside the room but then stops at least three feet away, as if suddenly afraid of getting too close – which makes little sense to Dean; just fifteen minutes ago Cas was standing close enough to brush his shoulder against Dean's. Cas clears his throat, and then throws a glance at Dean like he knows Dean won't like what he's about to say and is apologizing in advance. “Are you hungry? You barely ate anything yesterday.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him. He knows Cas means well – but Dean isn't freaking five. He will eat if he feels like it. Cas sighs, his face scrunching up like he knows he's behaving ridiculously but is somehow unable to stop himself. “I know, it's just – ” Cas' stomach growls and he cuts himself off, looks off to the side, obviously embarrassed. Dean is startled into a smile at the sight, huffs out a breath of laughter. Cas, impossibly, looks even more embarrassed. He sounds downright defensive when he says, “I'm _hungry_. It's a perfectly normal if annoying human condition, I'm sure you've heard of it.” Dean shakes his head at him, still smiling. On a whim, he stands up and motions for Cas to follow him.

>

Dean is already standing in front of the shelf, moving cans to the side in search for the pancake batter, when Cas enters the kitchen. “Dean, what are you – ” He sighs when he realizes what Dean is doing, comes to a stop behind him. “Dean, you don't have to cook for me.”

Dean turns halfway around and raises his eyebrows at Cas, trying to convey a sarcastic _oh, really?_ All he's seen Cas eat lately were crappy sandwiches. And Cas didn't even get to eat an entire one this morning, having coaxed Dean into eating half of the one he had left. Dean could eat it because Cas was eating. And maybe Cas was also eating deliberately slowly, but Dean tried not to think about that too much. The sandwich was cheese – maybe cheese. It had tasted vaguely like cheese. Which was good, because Dean isn't sure he can stomach meat yet. It's a bit like after hell, but not. Then, he'd eaten the same things as before, the things he remembered he liked, that would give him a brief moment of happy contentment. But it was like chasing a shadow. It all looked the same, tasted the same – probably – but Dean had changed, irreversibly. It felt like stuffing more emptiness into a giant void.

Now, the taste, even the smell of meat just makes him remember too much.

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean's expression, but the rigid set of his shoulders relaxes somewhat. “I suppose I can't stop you.”

Dean turns back to the shelf, grinning to himself. _Damn right_. He finally locates the pancake batter, turns around again and holds it up for Cas to see.

Cas eyes it for a moment, then asks hesitantly, “Do we have anything else?” Dean pauses, looks at him in what he hopes is a questioning manner. Cas sighs, then hedges, “I had a run-in with Metatron while I was – away.” Dean cocks his head slightly to the side, and Cas continues, looking off to the side with a flash of old anger in his eyes. “There were waffles involved. It was humiliating and I don't really wish to discuss it right now.”

Dean doesn't really know what to make of that, but Cas looks so haunted that he decides to let him be. He puts the pancake batter back and walks over to the fridge instead, Cas following hesitantly. Dean makes a face when he opens it – this is why he hates it when Sam makes the runs. There is no way near enough food for the three of them in here, even counting how wacky Dean's appetite is these days. Dean shoves some joghurt and a packaged fruit salad out of the way and is at least able to find butter and some eggs. Cas nods when he sees what Dean is holding, clearly relieved, and crowds in beside Dean, brushing against his shoulder and scrutinizing the pitiful contents of the fridge with narrowed eyes. “Do we have bell papers?”

They have, and some tomatoes, but no bacon. Dean is silently relieved by that, and Cas doesn't seem too disappointed, so Dean decides to make do with what they've found. Cas hovers uncertainly at his elbow while Dean sets up his cooking station at the stove, so Dean selects a cutting board and a knife for him and proceeds to show him how to cut the vegetables. The tremble in his right hand is there, but faint. Cas must still feel it with Dean's hands wrapped around his, showing him how small to make the slices, but he doesn't bring it up, just watches Dean's hands move his. Cas' hands are warm, and Dean thinks _this is nice_. And then he becomes aware of how close they are standing, how he's still holding onto Cas' hands, how Cas must think Dean treats him like a kid. He quickly lets go. Steps away, until there's an arm's length of distance again. He feels Cas' eyes on him but concentrates on whisking the eggs, keeping his head down. “Thank you,” Cas says quietly, after a much too long moment.

Dean just nods without looking up, and grabs for the skillet.

Cas watches him prepare an omelet but doesn't stand as close as before. Dean would like to tell him what other ingredients he'd use if they had them, what other varieties Cas might like to try. But both his hands are occupied, so he can't. He tops the finished omelet off with salsa, then scoops it onto a plate and hands it to Cas – with his left, because he doesn't trust his right hand enough yet not to let it fall. Dean tries to smile confidently at Cas when he hands it over. But he's nervous. He hasn't cooked since even before he got the mark. He'd cooked a few times for Kevin, when he had the time. But he doesn't wanna think about that now.

Cas takes the plate hesitantly, “What about you?”

Dean rolls his eyes at him, then makes a grimace. Preparing the omelet was one thing, but for all his complaining about wanting grilled cheese he doesn't actually feel like eating anything like that yet. He rummages around until he finds some Honey and Nut Cheerios.

Dean settles at the table across from Cas, who, either by chance or on purpose, has sat down with his back to the entryway. Dean decides not to ask. He's getting better – slowly – but some things are still a struggle. He's reminded of that again when the tremor in his right hand refuses to die down enough so he can hold the spoon still. Dean scowls down at his hand, then switches to the left. Cas obviously notices, but doesn't say anything. The atmosphere is far too tense again for Dean's liking, so he fumbles his phone out of his pocket, opens the note app again and slides it over to Cas as soon as he's finished typing.

_what else do you like_

Cas reads and then looks thoughtful for a moment, chewing slowly. “I like PB&J's. With jelly – jam I find unsettling. And I've grown fond of pork rinds.”

Dean almost chokes on his cheerios and makes a face at Cas that he hopes conveys his disgust. Cas looks at him, seemingly confused, but his eyes shine with amusement.

“You asked.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him, then motions for him to continue.

It turns out most other food that Cas likes is stuff that Dean can get behind, but it also mostly consists of what can be found in gas stations and roadside diners. It makes old guilt rush through Dean, as well as a sense of urgency that he has to show Cas how much better home cooked meals are.

He's finished with his cereal already, too used to having to eat quickly. Cas is still savoring his last bites, humming contentedly around his fork.

“This was incredible. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean ducks his head, feeling his cheeks heat. He busies himself with carrying his bowl over to the sink.

Cas brings his empty plate and the skillet over. He doesn't attempt to talk Dean out of washing the dishes, for which Dean is grateful. He just stands a respectful distance away and dries whatever Dean hands to him. Cas appears lost in thought, but Dean doesn't mind the silence so much this time. Out of the corners of his vision, he watches Cas' hands dry his bowl with sure and steady movements. It should be weird, seeing Cas do mundane everyday stuff like this. Stuff he never did _before_. It's moments like these that Dean is made aware again of how long they haven't seen each other. Cas is still Cas, but he has changed, and now Dean feels like he's reconnecting with him, if slowly.

Dean hands Cas the cleaned skillet with his left, so Cas can dry it. Cas takes it absently. He looks tired. Dean would tell him to get some shut-eye, but he'd feel stupid typing that. Cas is his own person, he doesn't need Dean to tell him when to take a nap.

The problem solves itself after Cas announces, putting the last of the dishes away, “I'm gonna go lie down for a while.” There's hesitation in his tone though, in the way he hovers beside the counter and searches Dean's eyes. “Are you going to be okay on your own?”

Dean rolls his eyes and fights down the urge to scoff. He knows Cas doesn't mean to sound patronizing. Dean hasn't been alone for any extended amount of time for days – not since he pulled his little stunt of fleeing from the bunker and making Sam and Cas chase after him.

Dean huffs out a breath and nods, holds up the sponge and makes a vague sweeping motion to encompass the whole of the kitchen. It's definitely not clean enough in here for his liking.

Cas watches him and then nods. “I understand. I'll leave you to it then.”

He only briefly meets Dean's eyes before before he turns around and leaves for the hallway. Dean looks after him for a moment, worry weighing down on his shoulders. He hopes Cas doesn't still feel guilty for what had happened when he'd tried to keep Dean from doing stuff in the kitchen on his own. Dean hates being patronized, but none of them could have anticipated the crippling flashbacks it would trigger.

A shiver runs up Dean's back and down his arms. He turns his right hand over, watches the minute trembling of his fingers. He's still loosely holding the sponge in his left, grips it tighter now. If he's gonna use his left hand more from now on, he might as well start getting used to it. He puts the sponge back into the sink, searches around for a rag. It takes him a moment – nothing in his fucking kitchen is where it's supposed to be.

Dean loses himself in cleaning for over an hour. Everything he finds that he thinks doesn't belong in the kitchen, he piles onto the table. But then the disarray on the table irritates him. It's less than it was when he first came back – the files and print-outs and newspaper clippings are gone – but he still doesn't want random stuff cluttering up the place. Dean finally goes and gets a duffel bag, throws everything in it, and brings it to Sam's room, since he guesses all of it is his anyway (a small army of pens, sticky notes with cryptic numbers, and messily coiled cell phone chargers).

He dumps the bag at the foot end of Sam's unmade bed and turns to leave when a pile of print-outs on Sam's desk catches his attention. On top of it is a grainy print-out of what looks like a photo made with a cell phone, taken at night and from a distance, blown up and pixelated almost beyond recognition. Three figures stand in what looks vaguely like a seedy back alley. A sticky note attached to it reads _Oklahoma City, 02 June, 2014_. The date doesn't tell him anything other than that by that time, he must have been under Magnus' control for quite a while already.

Dean looks at the grainy picture again, feels himself shiver. The haggard figure to the left is the tallest, face turned away and to the side, eyes dark. Something darker held in their hand.

Dean staggers backwards, hits the backs of his legs against Sam's bed. His breaths are coming too fast, his fingers are tingling. He leaves the room fast. Keeps his head down all the way back to the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

After he'd found the photo in his brother's room, Dean made himself a cup of coffee and then sat down at the kitchen table cradling the cup and waiting for the shaking of his hands to die down. When he finally felt like he had gotten himself back together, he got up again and started in on laundry. The distraction helped, so Dean tries to keep busy over the next few days.

Sam calls to let them know the case is going to take a while. It's another thing Dean needs to distract himself from, that Sam now only calls Cas. Not Dean, because it would make no sense to call Dean.

Cas puts Sam on speaker the one time he calls, but there's hesitancy in Sam's tone, his cheerfulness forced. Dean's silence clearly unnerves him. And while Dean likes to hear from Sam, _really_ hear him and know he's okay, it makes him feel left out and isolated listening to Cas and Sam talk.

There's an awkward pause towards the end of the call. Sam clears his throat, and Dean can almost see him, shifting his weight nervously and doing that puppy dog expression that gets him out of doing the dishes.

“So, uh, how are you doing, Dean?”

Cas instantly grows tense beside him, then shoots a nervous glance at Dean. Dean sits frozen, stares at the phone. He doesn't know if Sam expects Cas to answer for Dean or what, but suddenly he doesn't wanna be there anymore. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor of the library and then he walks out. By the time the low rumble of Cas' voice sounds again, he's already too far away to make out the words.

If Cas is uncomfortable or annoyed with constantly having to play both interpreter and messenger, he never complains about it. But Dean can tell that something is weighing on him. Moments of intense focus war with Cas looking utterly lost in thought. Dean keeps catching him composing texts and then grimly checking his phone again and again but apparently never getting a reply. Which makes Dean pretty certain it's not Sam Cas is texting. Maybe Cas has met someone while he was on the road, and now he can't be with them because he's stuck here with Dean out of some misguided sense of obligation. But Dean doesn't ask, because the idea that Cas would rather be somewhere else – he doesn't wanna think about it.

He's jealous, and it's stupid, but it keeps nagging at him. It's obvious Cas hasn't really settled into the bunker, and it's questionable if he ever will. While Cas does have a room he's claimed for himself, the few times Dean has caught a glimpse of it made pretty clear that Cas is ready to leave at any moment. His clothes are mostly in bags, there's a few battered paperbacks and an alarm clock and a glass of water on the nightstand, but that's it.

It makes Dean sad.

He wants Cas here. Even more, he wants Cas to _want_ to be here. But while Cas seems to know his way around, he still treats everything – the mugs in the kitchen, the lore books, the shower room – like he's a guest that will at some point leave. Dean wants him to know it doesn't have to be that way. But he hasn't yet found the right words to make that clear. Obviously Cas feels obligated to stay, and Dean doesn't wanna feed into that. Cas should make like, an _independent_ decision. God knows they haven't made enough of those in their little family.

Selfishly, Dean still wishes Cas would talk with him about it. Dean might not have been worth shit at the talking thing even while he still could talk, but he's an okay listener he thinks. He wants Cas to have someone to talk to. Cas has a steadfast inner strength Dean admires, and always bounces back, no matter what shit the world throws at them. But now, Cas is clearly troubled by something while stuck in an underground bunker with a guy he can't rely on because said guy gets anxious about closed doors. It must suck.

And it doesn't help that Dean is aware he does need Cas' help. The first time he so much as tries eating alone it doesn't go real well. He chokes on the third bite, flooded by panic. By the memories of wolfing food down in the dark, of throwing it back up, of feeling like he was dying of a hunger he couldn't name. His sleeping schedule has never been exactly regular, but now it's completely fucked up. Dean is constantly tired, but he never manages to sleep for longer than three or four hours tops. Judging from the way Cas is always ready to eat something whenever Dean is, it's likely that he's subtly trying to plan his meals according to when Dean is most likely to be hungry. It's a thoughtful gesture, but also embarrassing as fuck.

Dean tries to repay Cas by cooking stuff he thinks Cas might like. It's good, because he can do something for Cas while also keeping himself busy and distracted.

Seeing Cas eat is still a little strange. Having him around so much is strange.

Cas seems to be doing his best to ignore any awkward moments that rise up between them, but he does glance at Dean with a worried expression when he thinks Dean isn't looking. Since Dean declared the contents of the fridge to be lacking, they make a second run. The drive there is mostly silent since Cas needs to keep his eyes on the road. Dean wrote a list, even though it was mostly just so he could hold something in his hands to ground him and to concentrate on. It turns out to be a good idea, because being around people still makes Dean nervous and ever more aware of his own silence. He can tell Cas is trying to help by staying calm and pretending everything is normal while glaring at everyone who dares stare at them. But by the end he looks as exhausted as Dean feels. Cas wouldn't say it, but Dean is a liability and a burden on his family right now.

So far, Cas hasn't asked if Dean feels like he isn't able to speak or if he just doesn't want to anymore. But the question is there in his eyes every time Dean doesn't even try and open his mouth to say anything.

Dean isn't sure he knows the answer himself.

>

Dean notices pretty quickly that being cooped up in the bunker for too long makes him anxious. While the bunker means safety, it doesn't have any windows. Since Baby isn't here for him to tinker with, Dean decides to work on fixing the heater in the Continental. Being outside means he's more exposed, but it helps that he can breathe fresh air and see the open sky, even when it's overcast.

Since Dean didn't see him anywhere, he'd assumed that Cas was still asleep when Dean wandered out to go work on his car. He's been at it for about half an hour, taking his time because he's got all day and he doesn't want to overstrain his right hand, when the bunker door swings open and Cas stumbles out with a wild look in his eyes. His shoulders sag when he spots Dean, and he walks up to stand in the open passenger side door. “Dean,” he grates out, frowning at him, “I didn't know where you were. What are you – ” His eyes fall on the dashboard. “Are you fixing my heater?”

Cas makes it sound like Dean is committing a crime, and Dean rolls his eyes at him. He sighs and leans back, digs his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. Cas could've just texted him. But Cas just scowls instead, “That would have taken too long.” Dean snorts. It's not his fault that Cas texts slower than a ninety year old. Cas huffs out a breath and climbs into the car to sit beside Dean. “Can I help?”

Dean eyes him warily for a moment. The way Cas asked didn't sound like he's asking because he thinks Dean can't do it on his own. There's the issue that with both his hands occupied, Dean can't explain anything to him. But there's something about the idea of fixing Cas' car up together with Cas that makes Dean want to say yes, so he nods. Cas seems to brighten at that, and for that alone this whole thing is already worth it.

Cas asks questions while they work, deliberately worded so that Dean can answer them with either a headshake or a nod. Since Dean can't tell him what to do, he just takes Cas' hands and guides him to hold cables out of the way or take the screwdriver when Dean needs both his hands free. It's a bit awkward at first, with Cas crowded so close, but fixing cars has always calmed Dean down and it doesn't fail to do so now. His breathing evens out and his hand stays surprisingly steady.

They're interrupted finally by the growling of Cas' stomach. Dean looks up at him and quirks an eyebrow in question, silently amused. Somehow, Cas seems to understand what he's asking and scowls at Dean. “No, I didn't eat breakfast. I was looking for you.” Dean just barely fights off the urge to roll his eyes at Cas yet again. “Did you eat?” The way he asks suggest Cas already knows the answer to that so Dean just shrugs. Cas was asleep, so he didn't. He made himself some coffee – now that he can finally drink the stuff again they're going to have to stock up on it – and then came here. Cas nods like he expected as much, “I'll be right back.”

Dean leans back in the seat, wipes his hands on his jeans. The Continental isn't Baby, but Cas could've stolen a frilly Prius, or a Sedan. Dean hates it when cars smell like plastic and polyester all over. Cas seems to have grown fond of the car too. Apparently Sam forged him a license at some point, but even though Sam always did okay at fixing up Baby when Dean wasn't around, Dean feels like it's up to him to teach Cas how to take care of his car.

Cas comes back with a thermos of coffee and two sandwiches. He hands Dean one – cheese, which he's soon going to grow tired of, but at least there's no green crap on it. They eat and trade the coffee back and forth between them. In his head, Dean is already cataloging which parts of the car to check next, when Cas says, sounding thoughtful, “I think I'm starting to understand your attachment to your car, Dean.” Dean looks up from where he'd been staring absently at the dashboard. Cas throws him a glance and swallows what he had been chewing, continues, “Someone stole my car about two months ago. I could have gotten another one, but I wanted this one back.” Cas bites off more of his sandwich – peanut butter, apparently – then frowns. “Sam thinks it's crappy.”

Dean has to suppress a smile at Cas' indignant tone. He rests his sandwich on his knee, fishes out his phone.

_eye of the beholder_

Cas reads, then nods. “I guess so.”

Dean is about to put his phone away again when something else crosses his mind.

_what made you choose this one_

Cas hums thoughtfully and leans back in his seat. “It looked nice. And comfortable.” After a beat, he adds, “Also, the key was still in the ignition.”

Dean huffs out a breath of laughter and Cas smiles.

>

They finish fixing up the heater and then move on to the windshield wipers. Dean noticed them moving sluggishly when they drove through the rain to Dan's tree farm. Cas is contemplating washing his car when he notices Dean clenching and unclenching his right hand to – unsuccessfully – make the muscles in his arm stop cramping. Cas pushes him down on the backseat and then climbs in after him, grabs for Dean's hand like it's the most natural thing and starts massaging along his forearm and down to his trembling fingers. “You should have told me you were in pain.”

Dean rolls his eyes and looks away, embarrassed. A part of him wants to pull his arm away and refuse Cas' offer of help. But his arm does hurt, and Cas' warm, steady touch is nice, and that makes him stay put. It does make him feel vulnerable though, so he fumbles for his phone and types – with difficulty, since he only has his left.

_how do you know all this crap_

Cas reads without stopping the movements of his hands, thumbs digging carefully into the sore spots. He shrugs, “It's just a massage, Dean. It's not difficult to figure out.”

Dean huffs impatiently, then reaches out to encircle Cas' wrist with the fingers of his left hand, miming what Cas told him to do after his nightmare at the motel.

“Oh, that?” Cas shrugs again, but he won't look up and meet Dean's eyes. “I've just googled a lot of things. Some have proven to be more useful than others.” He says it like it's no bid deal, but there's a tense, evasive undercurrent to his words. Dean frowns and then tugs at his arm in Cas' grasp to get his attention.

“What –”

Cas finally looks up, and he must read the skepticism on Dean's face, because he huffs and looks away. He seems to fight with himself for a moment, then replies at length, “Giving up this grace, it was. Difficult.” Cas' face clouds over in a clear sign of frustration. “I wanted to be functional. I wanted to be helpful to Sam. So I tried finding ways to help me deal with – with everything.”

Dean swallows, instantly worried at Cas' words and guilty that he had never asked Cas how he was doing. He still doesn't know what went down with Metatron or what made Cas give up the grace he had, but like every other time the subject came up, he gets the feeling Cas really doesn't want to talk about it. Cas is looking down at Dean's arm in his lap again, has switched to digging his thumbs carefully into Dean's palm. It makes another thought cross Dean's mind, and he types, already dreading the answer,

_is that why you're doing this? Because you want to be useful?_

Cas reads, then frowns. There's a defensive edge to his voice when he says, “I like being useful. What's wrong with it?”

Dean clenches his jaw, frustration and guilt making him impatient, but he forces himself to type out,

_just saying you don't OWE us help Cas._

Cas seems to deflate at that, exhales on a sigh. “It's not that.” He falls silent, his fingers working the spaces between Dean's knuckles. The tremble in Dean's fingers is still there, but the pain has died down to a dull ache. He doesn't withdraw his arm. Cas appears lost in thought, but there's a sad, defeated air to the slump of his shoulders. Pushing him would clearly be the wrong move, so Dean decides on a different tactic. He reaches out, brushes his fingertips over the furrow between Cas' brows. Cas looks up, startled, rubs over the place that Dean just touched, “Do I have something on my face?”

Dean snorts, amused, then taps his fingers gently against Cas' temple.

“What am I thinking?”

Dean nods.

Cas looks down again, and for a long moment it appears like he won't answer. Dean resigns himself to letting the matter drop, when the movements of Cas' fingers slow.

Into the silence, Cas says, “I'm thinking that I've missed your company.”

Dean's heart misses a beat, and he can feel heat rising to his face. Cas is staring out the windshield, is rubbing his thumb in circles over the palm of Dean's hand in an absent kind of way that suggests he's not really aware he's doing it. There's a brittle quality to his voice when he continues, “While you were gone, everything was so – cold.” Dean feels something twinge painfully in his chest, and then Cas sighs, and the touch of his fingers falls away. “Actually, that's not true. The temperature was completely normal for that time of the year. _Everything_ was normal. Everything just – went on.” Cas swallows heavily. His eyes are glassy. “It seemed unfair. You were gone. I didn't want to –” He breaks himself off, can't seem to continue for a moment. Dean sits very still, a lump in his throat, at a loss at what to do.

Cas' voice is on the edge of breaking with his next words, a shadow of anger that appears to be directed at himself passing over his face, “And now, I – I miss your voice. And I _shouldn't_ , I should be grateful that –” He makes a strangled noise and then gets up so fast Dean flinches, but then comes to a stop again as soon as he's standing with his back to Dean, leaning heavily against the open car door with one arm while appearing to be pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

“I've just, I've missed you so much, Dean.”

His voice gives out through the last words and Dean scrambles out of the back and impulsively pulls Cas into a hug.

Cas goes tense for a moment but then slumps against him, his arms coming up around Dean's waist to clutch fistfuls of Dean's shirt at his back. Cas is hiding his face against Dean's chest and his breath is hitching in a way that makes Dean's heart hurt. Dean smoothes a hand up and down Cas' back and Cas takes a shuddering breath, carefully pushes out of Dean's hold. He rubs at his eyes and motions vaguely at the bunker, “I'm sorry, I'll just –” Then he pushes past Dean with his head hung low.

>

Dean sits in the back for a while, stares out the dusty windshield. He toys with the idea of texting Sam for an update, but Sam wanted some time off. Dean has to trust that Sam will ask when he needs help. Dean didn't even check the news for Fall River to see if he could find out what case Sam is on, though the uncertainty does make him nervous.

Dean rubs at his wrist absently. He's had his fair share of experiences with PTSD over the years, but it's not like they can go talk to a shrink in their line of work. Cas seems to have found some ways to deal with stuff that's probably a lot healthier than what he and Sam usually do – getting drunk and never talking about things again – but Cas is clearly still troubled by the stuff that went down in Dean's absence, and Dean is worried that something's gotta give eventually.

Dean knows intimately well how deep loss can eat away at a person. But both Sam and Cas had every reason to give up on Dean even before Magnus sped along the process that turned Dean into a mindless murder machine.

Dean didn't – he didn't expect them to miss him this much.

Dean sits in the backseat for a long time while his thoughts slowly settle, then heaves himself up and takes a look under the hood. He means to just check a few things, but he has engine grease all over his hands by the time he realizes it's way past lunch time. He finishes up and feels a lot calmer, if heavy and exhausted, when he makes his way down the stairs and then goes scrub his hands clean.

He feels like making mashed potatoes with some stir-fry he isn't sure he'll eat but that he thinks Cas might like. Dean is still busy setting up his cooking station at the stove when Cas joins him in the kitchen. His eyes are still a little red-rimmed and his smile weak when he meets Dean's eyes, but he offers Dean his help and fills the silence by telling Dean about the book he's reading (“I don't know yet if I like it. It's poetic, but I find metaphors confusing.”).

Dean had actually felt quite hungry for once, but he ends up barely touching his food. Cas must notice, but he doesn't comment. He puts the left-overs away and then takes the dirty dishes out of Dean's hands, “You've done enough, Dean. You look tired.”

Dean scowls at him but can't really protest because it's true. And after what happened earlier, Cas might welcome some alone time. So Dean just nods, claps Cas on the shoulder, and shuffles off to his room. He puts on some headphones and means to finish the episode of _Charles In Charge_ he had started yesterday, but halfway through Charles telling Douglas to please wait until it's a school day to fall in love, he falls asleep.

>

Dean wakes up several hours later with a start. For a moment, he can't figure out what woke him so abruptly, but then he becomes aware of a gnawing, ravenous hunger in his guts. He blinks for a moment at the black screen of his laptop in front of his face, the little white LED light of the standby mode flashing at him rhythmically. Then he slips his headphones the rest of the way off, sits up slowly and rubs at the ache just under his breastbone. It's a disturbing feeling because he hasn't been this hungry in a while, not since he got free, and it's persistent enough that he knows he can't just lie back down and go back to sleep.

With an annoyed huff, he drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen. Dean hasn't tried eating alone since his one disastrous attempt, but it turns out it doesn't matter anyway, because nothing at all seems appealing to him. He stares at the contents of the fridge for a moment, and then just gets a glass of milk, drinks it while leaning against the counter. He's still just as hungry by the time he puts the dirty glass in the sink.

Dean walks back to his room, but then hesitates in the doorway. The lights are all on, the door wide open. But something is itching under his skin, and he doesn't feel like he'll be able to lie down again just yet.

He wanders the hallways for a while, the floor cold under his socked feet. He's been sleeping in his clothes, feeling too exposed otherwise. Given his fucked up sleep schedule and his wide open door, Cas probably knows about that, but he hasn't said anything. It likely doesn't even strike him as weird. With him and Sam as role models, it's not surprising that Cas appears to have very little regard for or concept of normal human sleeping habits. Twice already, Dean has caught him asleep over a book in the library. When Dean woke him so he could go sleep in a bed, Cas had looked at him like he didn't really understand why Dean woke him just so he could sleep somewhere else.

Dean is wandering past the storage room when something prickles at his neck. He comes to a stop, eyes the closed door warily. He fumbles for the light switch before he enters, leaves the door wide open.

Dean hasn't been in here since he got back. He enters slowly, scans the shelves crammed with boxes and files for he doesn't even know what.

On a shelf at the very back is a flat black box that Dean instantly hones in on, some part of him knowing instinctively what it contains. His mind goes blank, his ears deaf to his own breathing as his legs carry him over to the shelf. His hunger flares up as his shaking hands fumble with the latches and then open the box.

The two splintered pieces of bone and teeth don't reflect any of the dull yellow lighting of the room. Dean reaches out, touches three trembling fingers to the handle –

jerks them back.

Sound comes rushing back in and he stumbles, almost chokes on his breath. Stares down at the broken Blade. Hunger gnaws at him again and his hands twitch. He slams the box closed, grips it, and gets out of the room as fast as he can.

The door to Cas' room isn't closed all the way, so Dean pounds against the frame. There's shuffling inside, then light goes on and the door opens further. Cas blinks at him, his hair all in a disarray, alarm clear on his face. “Dean, what's wrong?”

Dean's breathing is too fast. He doesn't have his hands free, doesn't know how to explain. He shakes his head, shoves the box at Cas.

Cas takes it hesitantly, confusion all over his face. Dean averts his eyes when Cas opens the box, then shuts it again quickly. “Oh,” he says, and Dean nods, his jaw clenched tight. Cas hesitates for a moment but then steps back and opens his door wider, “Come in.”

Dean doesn't move for a moment, but then forces himself forward. He doesn't really wanna be in a room with that thing, but doesn't wanna be alone right now either. He sits down at the foot end of the bed and watches Cas put the box into the bottom of his drawer and then lock it. He holds up the key when he turns back to Dean, smiles encouragingly, “See? All safe.”

Dean tries to smile back even though they both know what Cas said isn't really true, but his face just won't cooperate. He feels cold all over and deeply afraid and he hates it.

He slumps over and supports his head with his left hand. Cas sits down near the headboard, leaving about two feet of space between them. “Do you want some water?” Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, shakes his head. He hasn't tried saying anything in days, and now it's like he can feel the words burning under his tongue, crawling all over each other in his throat. But when he opens his mouth, he just exhales on air.

His frustration must show on his face because Cas leans closer, softly says Dean's name to get his attention. Dean closes his eyes again and just breathes for a long moment. Then he fumbles his phone out of his pocket.

_the monsters at magnus zoo how did you know which ones were bad_

Cas looks a little taken aback when he reads it, then thoughtful. He hands the phone back to Dean. “Remember when I was living with Daphne and you came to bring me to Sam? And I didn't know who you were? Most of my powers were more or less dormant back then, but I told you I could sense that you had killed a lot of people. It's kind of like that. It feels like a – like a dark stain.”

Cas goes on to say something else, but Dean doesn't hear him, his heart pounding with the realization that if he felt like that to Cas back then, how much worse does it have to be now?

Cas cuts himself off mid-sentence, looks confused for a moment until understanding dawns on his face, followed by regret. “Dean, no – you don't feel like a bad person to me. Because you're not.”

Dean grimaces and rubs at his face. Has to look away, shame settling on him heavily, because Cas has no idea.

“Dean?”

Dean forces himself to type. Cas deserves to know what Dean has realized now.

_I think I miss using the blade. I liked how it felt to kill with it and I miss that_

He's fully prepared for Cas to react with either alarm or disgust or both, but Cas just sighs softly, though he does look worried.

“Dean, you were _cursed_. No one can judge you for still struggling with the aftereffects of it.” When Dean still avoids his eyes, Cas leans forward, puts the phone down on the covers between them and lays a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Dean, you'll get through this. You saved _yourself_. That takes remarkable strength.”

Dean doesn't know how to react to that, so he just keeps staring at the floor. Cas squeezes his shoulder briefly, then withdraws his hand. “I can hide the blade somewhere else if that helps make you feel safer.” Then he yawns. “Can it wait until tomorrow though? It's kind of the middle of the night.” He drags a hand through his already messy hair and looks so disgruntled it makes Dean smile a bit.

Cas gives him a tentative smile back, then yawns again. Dean takes it as his cue to leave, though not without typing out a quick

_thanks Cas._

Cas blinks at it and nods, already tugging his bare feet back under the covers, “Goodnight, Dean.”

>

Dean lies down on his bed and stares at the ceiling for a while. The urgency of hunger he had felt earlier has lessened. The Blade is broken, won't even react to him anymore if he touches it, and he is yearning for it anyway.

For the way it took his pain away better than any morphine ever could.

Dean tries counting backwards in his head to redirect his thoughts. That's never really worked for him though, and he finds himself absently wondering if Cas sometimes did the same thing when he slept here. If he stared at the ceiling, unable to stop brooding over crap.

Cas sleeping in Dean's room – in his bed – is another thing Dean's been trying hard not to think about. It's intimate enough that Dean instinctively shies away from it, and also makes him feel ashamed. Cas was here, missing a guy who spend almost a year slaughtering and capturing monsters like a blood-thirsty hound dog.

Dean is sure by now it wasn't the feeling that he was about to kill someone he knew that stopped him from murdering Charlie. It was the shock of realizing that the Beast he'd thought had been haunting him was inside himself.

If Sam and Cas had found Dean before that night, and Magnus had ordered Dean to kill them, Dean isn't sure he would have disobeyed.

The grainy photo on Sam's desk proves that he and Cas saw him and Magnus at least once. And they were tracking Dean's kills, at least the ones they became aware of, which means they know at least some of what Dean did.

His arm started aching again a couple minutes ago, and now a spike of pain makes him grimace and curl his fingers. Dean shifts on the bed, rubs at his arm and stares out the open door until he falls into a fitful sleep.

>

His arm is better in the morning, and Dean makes Cas omelet again while drinking his coffee. Cas seemed to have really liked it, and Dean just needs to do something – sitting around and being inactive just isn't for him. Usually he would distract himself with a hunt, and that's a whole other thing that's gonna be an issue real soon. He needs to go down to the gun range, check how affected his aim is by – everything. See if he can work around it. Dean can't stay cooped up in here forever, he's gonna drive himself and Cas insane.

Cas shuffles in a few minutes later, looking half-asleep, but he perks right up when he sees what Dean is doing. “Are you making omelet again?” He comes around the counter to stand at the stove and look over Dean's shoulder. Starts saying, “I thought, today, if you wanted to, we could – ”

Cas' phone starts ringing in his pocket, a shrill noise that makes Dean flinch and Cas curse. He steps away from Dean and presses it against his ear, “Yes, hello?” Dean turns down the heat on the stove and looks over at Cas just in time to see the color drain from his face. “Yes, yes that's me, is she okay? ...I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can.” Cas hangs up and then turns towards Dean, his expression a mix of worry and guilt when he says, “It's Claire.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story continues in the next part!


End file.
